


The Queen's Composition

by justonemoreartist



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Elsacest, Gen, Hallucinations, selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justonemoreartist/pseuds/justonemoreartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before her arrival at her coronation party, Elsa takes a breather in the painting room and has what she believes to be a vision. No romantic pairings need apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen's Composition

Gerda examined the room through the crack in the door. The guests were lively and talkative, partly on account of the novelty, and partly on account of the champagne that flowed readily, and the party was both warm and merry as a result. Off to the side, Kai waited patiently for her signal, and their eyes met briefly before she turned to look behind her.

Her Royal Majesty was loitering; an odd term to use, but fitting. She had dawdled the entire way back from the chapel, and as a result was only just now making it to the main hall. Had she been anyone else, Gerda might have been disappointed, even irritated, but her old eyes could see the hesitation and apprehensiveness in the queen’s every step just as easily as they had so many years ago, and so she waited for her. When she paused, swallowed, and rubbed her arms, Gerda knew she would be waiting some more.

“I don’t suppose they’ll need me just yet…?” Her Majesty asked, the hint of nervous hope slipping into her voice enough to slice a paper-thin wound in the serving woman’s heart, and she sighed imperceptibly. The newly crowned queen was dressed in an intricately embroidered gown tailored to match her slender form. Her hair was drawn into a conservative braid and tucked safely away, just as surely as its owner did herself, and her ever-present gloves matched her dress in such a way that they almost didn’t look out of place in the summer weather. A flowing cape adorned with the royal family’s crest draped over her shoulders and pooled on the floor, a constant reminder of her bearing, and her burden. Every inch of her bespoke royalty, tradition, and that odd mixture of power and subservience that accompanies a monarch. She was a living symbol of grace, prestige, and sovereignty.

Gerda had never seen her look so small.

But then that wasn’t true, was it?

She folded her hands together in a respectful gesture, inclining her head as she said, “Your Majesty, your subjects wait for you. Whether they wait for a long or short time is entirely your decision.”

The queen bit her lip. It made her look like a child again, and Gerda didn’t wonder why: others might have considered that an insulting observation, and yet Elsa had been an adult for a very, very long time.

“Well, I’d just…I’d rather not be late,” she said. She wasn’t looking at the other woman, but rather, her shoes: it was possible she was talking to herself, instead. She hadn’t moved a single step since they’d arrived at the doors. Gerda ran her eyes over the creases in her gloves, the thin line between her brows, and the muscles moving under the skin of her cheeks, and coughed. The queen blinked hurriedly and glanced at her, and Gerda smiled, trying to convey her empathy in a way that would not frighten her.

“If I may, your Majesty,” she began, and the other woman tilted her head, silently imploring her to continue, “your mother had some excellent advice for this very occasion.”

“Oh?” She appeared intrigued. She had leaned forward at the mention of her mother, and was watching Gerda with bright eyes.

Gerda’s smile grew. “Yes. Once, well before you were born, she arrived incredibly late to a state function – she and your father had been enjoying the sun, you see, and neither had kept track of the time – to the point where even the politest of guests had begun to grumble about her tardiness.”

The woman nodded at her words, and for a moment Gerda was reminded of a time when two little princesses cuddled up beside a king as he read to them stories and poems and fairy tales until their heads drooped and they could be put to bed. Anna had tended to fall asleep as quickly as she awoke, while Elsa struggled gamely on, watching her father silently, intently, as he described boats that flew and mice that saved lions and magic of old, and of new.

“The rest of us were running around in full panic, myself included-” Elsa gaped at this “-except for Maeja, your mother’s old handmaiden.”

“I remember her,” the queen murmured, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, her gaze becoming distant as she slid into a memory. “She was always so…stoic? Tall, and imposing…but that may have been because I only knew her as a child.”

Gerda neglected to mention that the woman in question had stood no taller than she did now: it wouldn’t do for her to remember giants as mere humans. “Quite stoic, which was something I always admired about her. Meanwhile,” she said, as she continued the tale, “your father was just as nervous: as I understand it, he was blaming himself for not arriving on time.”

The other woman’s lips quirked up into a mirthless smile. “Well. That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” The sounds of the party flared up as the band struck up a well-known tune. The queen’s eyes focused on the doors, and her shoulders slumped.

Gerda hurried on. “But despite his worry, your mother was as cool and collected as her Maeja. Your parents were just about ready to go when I finally screwed up the courage to ask how it is your mother wasn’t worried at all.”

The queen boggled at this. “You? Worked up the courage to speak to my mother? I can’t imagine you ever being afraid of her. Or of anyone, for that matter.”

Gerda shook her head, letting a chuckle escape her. “Despite my now…long history of employment, your Majesty, I was once a stranger here, too.”

Her vassal made a noise of acceptance and watched her expectantly. Her eyes were clear and steady. Years and years ago Gerda might have tweaked her nose and given her a sweet for paying such good attention. Years ago she would have been stunned at the sight, and might even have wept. Now, though, she smiled tightly. “Do you know, your Majesty,” she asked, “what it is she told me?”

Her gaze was searching Gerda’s. “No,” she said, slowly. There was the beginning of a playful smile on her lips, and Gerda relaxed at the sight.

“She told me, she said, “that a queen is never late: all of her guests are simply early.”

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Elsa laughed. She brought a hand up to cover her mouth, but the sound leaked out from between her fingers like sunlight through window shutters, her shoulders shivering.

“Oh, well,” Elsa said, still laughing as she shook her head, “that’s…that’s an idea I hadn’t considered before.” She pursed her lips and glanced at the floor, and then her smile overtook her face again, and she was chuckling once more.

“If you would like to wait some time before you arrive, then,” Gerda said in a kind voice, “I know of no one who would think less of you, your Majesty.”

Elsa inhaled deeply and folded her arms. For a minute she examined the floor, and Gerda waited. Then she lifted her head and nodded. “I’d like that.”

 

* * *

  

The halls were as empty as they usually were at night, the majority of the castle’s current population wrapped up in the party. Elsa’s footsteps were the only sound that echoed as she strode on, away from the congregation, and toward her favorite room.

The paintings surrounded her, lending the room the feeling of being filled with people, and yet all of them at a comfortable arm’s length. She knew that Anna, too, liked this room very much: she could tell by the dusty footprints that were often embedded in the couch cushions, despite the efforts of tireless servants. Sometimes it made her feel better to sit in the spot where her younger sister likely did, too, but only when she knew Anna was otherwise occupied. There was a reason why, during her younger years, she had requested her lessons take place in the early morning and evening. This had never changed; the only thing that did was the period in between them that had grown smaller and smaller over the years until it vanished like sand filtering through a sieve.

She quietly seated herself and leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes as she exhaled slowly. For several minutes she simply sat there, content to enjoy the silence of the empty room, drawing it inside of her as she calmed herself in preparation of her entrance to the party.

“Nervous?” a woman said. Elsa’s eyes opened, and she frowned, looking around the room. No one was present except for her. She was just about to get up and check outside the doorway when the voice said “I’m over here.”

She turned her head towards the speaker and her gaze settled upon a painting. It was one of her favorites. It usually depicted an angel, seated upon a rock, and Elsa had always been fond of that idea; a mythical being of the wind and sky, as free as a bird, and yet grounded. Her expression was usually pensive, perhaps even melancholic, her halo an afterthought that blended into the dark background as she gazed into the distance, her eyes downcast. Her arms were sculpted, as though the woman worked with her hands, and the wings that sprouted from her back were oddly simplistic, a strange contrast to the realism of the woman’s body and face. They were usually outstretched, ready for the angel to take flight.

Except now there had been a slight change. The woman was no longer brown-haired, but rather a brilliant blonde; her strong arms were thin, now; her dark eyes were sky blue. Her hands remained bare as she regarded Elsa with animated interest, and the queen stared as she recognized herself captured in hues of white and beige.

Her mouth fell open of its own accord, and the angel smiled, as though someone invisible had rapidly repainted her mouth, but Elsa knew that to be impossible. She closed her mouth and tried to form words. “I…are you…did you just…?” She stopped and shook her head forcefully. Clearly the stress of the coronation was getting to her, if she actually believed that the painting was speaking to her.

“I _did_ speak, thank you,” the angel said, and stood, and Elsa’s eyes bulged. This was far more than just a quick series of paint strokes: clearly, she was hallucinating, and badly, if it involved both auditory and visual cues.

“And whether you consider me a hysterical vision or a sign from God, I care not,” she continued, “because what I have to say is more important for your silly ideas of normality.”

“Oh,” Elsa responded. It wasn’t like she had anything intelligent to say to that, anyways.

The angel drew her dress up in one hand and stepped forward, her form growing in size in the same way that a person nearby is larger than one many yards away, and Elsa watched this happen with a slight disappointment: even her hallucinations acted in accordance with logic. She had hoped her subconscious would be a little more imaginative.

“You’re nervous about the party.”

“Of course I’m nervous,” Elsa returned immediately, too affronted to care that she was actually engaging this living representation of her own delirium in conversation. “I’ll have to hide myself away in plain sight, surrounded by dozens of strangers, all of whom want something or other from me. The night can’t end soon enough.”

The angel’s wings fluttered as she glared at the queen. “That is not the reason you’re nervous.”

“Of course it-”

The angel’s wings snapped downward in anger, and Elsa’s bangs ruffled. She gasped.

“You do not deserve to be lied to, Elsa,” her companion said as Elsa watched, speechless, “so tell me the real reason.”

“Please,” she added, and that was what prompted the previously motionless queen to movement. She slowly stood, facing the vision, who folded her arms and waited.

“You’re right,” Elsa admitted, bringing her own hands up to her biceps, rubbing them nervously. “I…I’m not nervous because of all the people; I know how to handle them, thanks to the best tutors Mother and Father could employ. And I know what sorts of things they would ask for, or at least discuss, and have some idea of what I ought to say.”

She swallowed and looked down at the floor. “I’m nerv-no…” She trailed off and glanced to the side. The only noise in the room was the sound of breathing, and Elsa’s eyes returned to her caged twin’s before roaming over to her chest, which rose and fell in time to the sounds, as though the two-dimensional creation was actually alive. Her wings moved along with her chest, the effect was oddly soothing.

“I’m afraid to see her again,” Elsa said, and gnawed at her lip before saying, “Up close, that is. Where she might try and speak to me, and I…I’ll have to ignore her, won’t I?”

The angel had not needed to ask. “Not if you don’t wish to.”

Elsa looked at her with bitterness in her eyes. “And yet I have never wished to ignore her. If it were as simple as that I would never have left her behind.”

“So don’t.” Well that surely helped not at all. Elsa made a noise of aggravation and brought her fingertips to her temples, massaging them. “Then what, pray tell,” she hissed, “should I do?”

“You have denied her a full conversation with her own sister for years on account of your paranoia. Give her that tonight.”

“But _how_ can I do that while still keeping her at bay?” Her voice cracked in her desperation.

Her companion sighed heavily. Her wings drooped in time with her shoulders. “Elsa, don’t you think it’s high time you stopped doing that? She’s healed: can’t you see that?”

“I can see the white strands in her hair,” Elsa countered, and the angel made a face at her. “Yes,” she admitted, the word dragged out of her reluctantly, “but she still can run and skip and sing just as well as anyone else; she does not still suffer, and neither should you.” This, too, was advice that she found difficult to enact.

“She longs for you,” the angel said.

“Not after all these years,” Elsa mumbled. The words stung her lips.

“She does,” the angel corrected quietly. “She tells us all as much nearly every day.” There was a kindness in her voice that had not been present before, and Elsa’s eyes moved slowly over her face as she wondered whether her own voice could ever be so warm. “What harm could you do by offering her a chance to speak to her sister?”

It was probably meant as a rhetorical question, but Elsa pondered it all the same. Though she was already well aware of her sister’s inherent clumsiness, it was unlikely that she would be in danger, what with so many people present, ready to leap to her aid in the event of…what, exactly? What was she protecting Anna from, at this point? Her twin was right; Anna fairly flew through the hallways without a hint of lameness or injury, and even if, due to her treatment, she could not recall certain things about her sister, Elsa herself could remember a time when they had laughed together, and she longed to have that again. Surely she could let her guard down, just this once.

“Maybe…maybe you’re right. I suppose…well, it wouldn’t be too bad to-”

“Your Majesty…?” Gerda’s voice came from the entrance, and Elsa started, jerking her head towards the woman who had one hand on the doorway. She quickly turned her head toward the painting, and her surprise grew as she found that it had returned to its initial, fixed position. The angel was once again a mere construction of paint and canvas, and Elsa marveled that she had ever considered it real. “I…” she began, and blinked repeatedly as she thought over her previous “conversation”: what would it have sounded like to an observer?

“I came by to check up on you; the party is still in full swing, so you needn’t leave if you don’t wish to, your Majesty,” Gerda said, but Elsa, who had pulled herself together by now with some effort, was already shaking her head. “No, I think I’m quite done here, thank you: we’ll go.” But for a long moment she lingered, examining the painting. She had always thought the wings unfinished, but now she saw them differently, and liked them. She took one last look before heading towards the door.

The pair of them made their way silently towards the main hall, Elsa still reflecting on what she’d just experienced, Gerda maintaining her silence politely. The queen halted before the doors, glancing through the crack in between them where a sliver of light shone through, and turned towards the serving woman. She opened and closed her mouth a few times as she called up and rejected several sentences before finally asking, “Gerda, do you believe it possible – not necessarily probable, mind you – that there could be such things as…magical objects?”

She held her breath as the old woman regarded her with some suspicion. Elsa cringed as the silence stretched for far too long. She was beginning to feel the strain in her chest when Gerda at last tilted her head thoughtfully.

“Well, I suppose it’s just as possible as magical people,” she said, and Elsa, whose gaze had fallen to her shoes, looked up to see Gerda giving her a look of complete innocence. For the second time in one day she laughed, and this time Gerda chuckled with her, and for a moment they were not a master and servant, but rather a pair of old friends.

Gerda placed her hand on the doors. “Are you ready?”

Elsa nodded, smiling. “I am.” The serving woman knocked on the doors, indicating to the footmen inside that the queen had arrived, and Elsa steeled herself, settling a mask of calm over her face. It was much easier than she had thought it would be. She allowed herself a small grin.

The doors opened as Kai announced her arrival. Elsa took a deep breath and stepped forward. She could do this.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look, it’s Contemplative!Elsacest. Sorry about working on this and not “Solving the Girlfriend Problem” but…I keep getting these ideas for one-shots and I just have to run with them. The painting mentioned in this is called “Stevenson Memorial” and was made by Abbott Handerson Thayer…in the early 20th century, even though Frozen is set in the mid-19th century. Oh well: I liked it too much to…uh…let it go (sorry), especially since Thayer had what could be defined as bipolar disorder and panic attacks: I should think that Elsa would find a kinship with his works. Kudos to you if you get the movie reference in Gerda’s story.


End file.
